The stand off in the SlumberBy parlor was a beauteous thing to behold.

All assembled had swung as one in perfect formation to stare at the hazmat suited Bull and Posie. The tense atmosphere was made all the more sinister by the Darth Vader-like breathing from their respirators ….

Posie motioned for something to write with.

A notepad miraculously appeared from Agent Friendly’s pocket, followed by a pencil from behind someone’s ear.

“You are all hereby quarantined!” he wrote, and added a couple more !! for effect, and, as an after thought, capitalized “DANGER!”

“Huh????”

“Sheriff Redbone – you are hereby authorized to take appropriate actions to prevent the spread of a suspected bio-terrorism agent!”

Posie added a few more !!!! having noticed the effect from the first spread.

Without anyone noticing, Bull had positioned himself by the front door as, as expected, some of the selfless citizens tried to make a run for it.

“NO ONE is to go anywhere near that room! – He has a rash…..”

“AND he’s vomiting!!

Eyes popped wide, mouths hung open, Agent Friendly looked like a toss between crapping his pants or seeing a glorious opportunity.

Redbone took up a post at the foot of the stairs and Bull stood his ground by the front door as Posie wrote “ going to the Hall to look up symptoms – TAKE NO CHANCES!”

Once outside he made his way back round to the fire escape where Georgie and Irene were huddled looking up.

“How in hell are we going to get him down?”

“And if we get him down how can we get him out of here?”

And then out of the swirling snow, Santa’s sleigh arrived – Emmy driving the RV she had secretly bought and squirreled away for just such a bolt for freedom. And riding shotgun next to her was Sally Ann.

…………………………………

Two Pearly White faces gasped as the huge dark form filled the now open beer cooler door.

“Yzerman,” said Edson, ‘no debate really, definitely Yzerman.”

“Who are you two? Really.”

Adnam and Bashir reintroduced themselves, cautiously pulled out their drivers licenses and pictures of their wives and children and Golden Retriever, named Dino after Ciccarelli,  plus Dodge pick up and all  the other bits and pieces stuffed away in pockets and crevices to prove they really were just dentists from Dearborn.

Edson Falls chuckled, then chuckled some more, and finally laughed till tears ran down his face.

“Well now ….. you guys really did fall into a pile of shit eh?”

The absurdity of it all now outweighed their fear and everyone in the cooler laughed out loud.

“ Well now – the question is, how do we get you out of this mess?”

Regaining some sense of the somber, Adnam asked what had become of their cousin and hearing of the seriousness of his probable injuries made the situation much more urgent.

…………………………………………….

Back at the B&B fire escape Emmy had positioned the RV underneath the overhang and Posie was sliding the rolling gurney out of the second floor door.

Ropes and pulleys secured the rail and the injured Mansur was swaddled and strapped in like Rameses in his sarcophagus.

Carefully the precious package was slowly lowered down first to the RV roof and then, after Posie gave his aching muscles a break, down to the ground where the ladies helped get the gurney inside.

Smiles, back slaps and silent ‘whoops’ all round!

…………………………………………..

Inside the parlor the troops were getting restless and more and more agitated. One or two were convinced they were ‘coming down with something’. Pastor Paul had fallen to his knees and was exhorting Jesus, Mary and anyone else who cared to listen to save him from this foul and evil pestilence. Sheriff Redbone had an inkling of suspicion but not quite enough to do more than cast a curious eye up the stairs. Once or twice he’d thought he heard something like moaning – which quickly planted his ample butt back on the star treads!

Bull could see rebellion stirring. Those who wanted to bolt were edging ever closer to the front door. Those with baseball bats had a sort of Wiley Coyote look in their eye and were making eye contact with each other. This did not bode well.

…………………………………………..

Outside the package was safely loaded and the get away plan was almost ready to launch. It was time to go rescue the other hapless dentists and make a run for it.

“We need a distraction?” said Irene.

And conveniently one showed up from a really unexpected direction.

……………………………………………

Round the corner came Stinker in search of his misplaced master. Scenting his way in completely the wrong direction he tried to bolt in through the partially open kitchen door.

And in the process managed to slam his tail in the screen.

Two things happened at the same time. A blood curdling howl as if Sherlock, Watson and the whole pack from the Baskervilles had met a very sticky end. Closely followed by the inevitable biological function of the bowel challenged canine.

A dreadful odor wafted in to the B&B parlor – ‘GAS!!” yelled someone, “It’s an attack!!”

And all hell broke lose – fists, shoving, yells, swear words enough to make even a saint blush, some of the worst coming from Pastor Paul, Bull shoved aside like a rag doll, and in the ensuing melee Agent Friendly managed to shoot Max Redbone in the foot.

The discharged weapon echoed through the house and at the back door the flight crew gunned the RV off down the road to the Sink Hole.

…………………………………………………….

The whole shouting, screaming, shots fired mess could be heard even in the recesses of the cooler. All three occupants looked at each other and then ran for the window.

And saw a 40’ RV hair pin it into the parking lot, the door flung open and Sally Ann running toward them.

Edson and his daughter came face to face at the door.

“Good for you girl!” came the amazing response, “now everyone get your asses inside!”

A camera would have been nice to capture the assorted looks on everyone’s faces?

The dentists went to their cousin.

Posie considered if this was the end of his career – and did he care?

Emmy turned round to see Edson and almost peed herself.

Irene and Georgie elbowed each other in the ribs.

Sally Ann went quite white.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” said Edson Falls. “I’ve known for months, you’re amazing girl! Couldn’t be more proud of you!”

Emmy turned round in her seat, jaw open so far she could have swallowed an elephant.

“Get this damn thing on the road woman!” he shouted, “ we only have a few minutes before they notice.”

But before the RV gunned off down the road, Edson opened the door and whistled – and a whole heap of smelly sodden dog leaped inside.

……………………………………………….

Back at the B&B there were bats flying and Bull ducking and Agent Friendly had now managed to shoot himself in the foot as well. And just as he was about to flatten Pastor Paul  – a cell phone rang.

The room went silent. Except the TV came back on too at the same time.

“Hello? ….. oh, er …… yes we’re all fine ………. no, nothing to worry about ………. sure I can defrost something for supper ……… yes I can pick up the mail.”

“and this is great news, the State of Emergency has been lifted and the road crews say they have the main highway open again. Drivers are still urged though to exercise extreme caution…….

In other news a heightened alert has been issued for 2 suspects thought to be driving a blue pick up close to the northern border ……….”

…………………………………………………

Heading south, without the least bit exercising caution, Emmy looked over at Edson sitting in the passenger’s seat.

“You knew?”

“Sure. How did you think I wouldn’t notice this thing out in the back barn?”

“And Sally Ann?”

“She’s as much mine as anything – I knew when I married you what I wanted – both of you.”

“But ….I never knew.”

“All these years, I never said either. But it’s not too late is it?”

Emmy kept her eyes on the road – but it was kind of difficult with the tears there too.

Back in the RV, Georgie and Irene were napping cuddled up together. Bashir and Adnam were counting their blessings and Mansur had pinked up a little under the careful ministrations of Posie and Sally Ann.  All was well with the world as Whipsaw Lake fell ever further behind them all…..

………………………………………………

The blue truck was next in line at the border crossing. Something just didn’t feel right to the Mountie. Punching in the plate number , alarm bells went off all across the Binational Task Force and within seconds it was surrounded by armed SWAT.

The two occupants looked at each other and shrugged – ah well – so close ……

“Suspected US connection” came across the laptop screen. And under the blue tarp a Mountie was scanning the bar codes on 50 bags of ammonium nitrate marked  – ‘supplied by the Whipsaw Hardware, Plumbing, Agricultural Supply and Gas & Go. Come talk to me when you need more!” with the signature Bill Hodson.

[Note from the author: In recent weeks several tragic incidents have occurred taking the lives of decent, honorable members of our armed forces. This story is meant as satire and a reflection on how human nature can get totally out of whack. It should in no way be construed as dishonoring the memory or the honor of those who died.]

The scene around the prone figure of Mansur Elhessin had all the makings of an old style western B movie. 3 lined up on one side of the bed, 2 on the other – and one had his gun drawn.

“Seems a bit like overkill don’t you think?” smirked Georgie, “ the guy is hardly going to be making any sudden moves!”

At that moment Mansur Elhessin looked more like he had an appointment with the ‘Here After’ than mischief. Deathly white in his Pearly Whites suit, the miscreant breathing uncannily just like Sheriff Redbone, who didn’t take kindly to moving fast at all, let alone up 2 flights of stairs.

“Put that damn thing away afor’n you shoot someone!” gasped the Sheriff.

Agent Friendly commenced to going through the man’s pockets – which was done in short order as, of course, there aren’t many in a snowmobile suit.

He put on a pair of black rimmed spectacles and squinted at the slightly singed drivers license. “Hmmm!” he muttered with pregnant effect on reading the address as Dearborn Michigan. “As I thought,” he said half to himself. Agent Friendly was quite suspicious of ‘America as Melting Pot’ – being, of course, totally ignorant of his own family heritage being part Irish, part Polish!

Bull was monitoring the blood pressure cuff and shaking his head – this was not good. Shock had settled in and the man should have been on his way to an Emergency Room. Posie and he exchanged looks and silently agreed – they had to get this man out of here and quick.

Agent Friendly pulled out his hand cuffs and looked vainly around the room for something to pin the other comatose wrist to. It was all the fuse Georgette required – and the explosion was magnificent and mighty to behold. By the time she had f’d this and f’d that the two individuals on the other side of the bed needed burn ointment for their ears and wisely decided to retreat to the downstairs parlor.

Where they were just in time to welcome a gathered assembly of assorted characters, some of whom had been in the baying pack who had attempted to prevent the injured man being transported from the Park barely 4 hours ago.

Pastor Paul, never one to miss an opportunity to ‘troll for souls’, had gathered all the ‘concerned citizens’ and Sons of The Golden North who could still walk a straight line from the Sink Hole and walked them over to confront what passed for the Law. There was a definite OK Corral air about the place. The tinder was bone dry and Pastor Paul was Hell bent on leading them al to Glory – or at least up the stairs.

The scene had taken on a decidedly ugly atmosphere. One had grabbed the baseball bat and Cliff had loaned one patriot his 30 Odd 6. Having decided that two terrorists in the bar were worth one in the B&B – he had moved his prize back to the beer lockup in the basement and was already checking off what he would do with the reward money.

In the small front parlor there was barely room to swing a cat let alone the fire brand of righteous indignation now evident streaming from Pastor Paul’s one good eye.

Or indeed the baseball bats being carefully slapped into sweaty palms. A hand was caressing the shotgun barrel. The menace in the air was almost as evident as the sudden overpowering odor of too many winter clothes and not enough showers. An audible sniff was swiftly followed by “Jesus Mike would it hurt you to take a bath once in a while?!”

The mood being snapped out of fixation as surely as Cesar Milan flicking a snarly dog’s ear – the Law took back control, which was probably also due to Agent Friendly still having his weapon drawn and leveled at somewhere in the middle of the group of good citizens.

“We have come to offer our services as a posse,” intoned Pastor Paul, The Eye immediately seemed to swivel in its socket as Sheriff Redbone’s nose gave a reflex snort of derision.

“In what regard would that be required?” mused Agent Friendly, to no one in particular.

The general babble had come to a consensus. As with deer crossing the road in front of you, where’s there’s one there’s usually more – except in this case they believed the three unfortunate dentists from Dearborn were the forward vanguard of a streaming hoard amassed just across the Canadian border.

Scanning the assembled good citizens of Whipsaw Lake, Agent Friendly’s inner eye drifted back to happier days taking his niece to the Brookfield Zoo and feeding time for the hyenas ….

Life just wasn’t damn well fair. A little slip, a really once in a ‘mind fuck’ slip and now here he was, stuck in this piss ant backwoods B&B. Once he had had a life, a career, Starbucks in the morning, fly fishing on the weekend, cable TV, vacations in the Catskills, ….. and all at once he felt like sobbing. “And my damn feet are wet to boot!” he cursed – and then realized he’d said it out loud – which explained why everyone was silent and staring at him.

Too much bitterness makes an Agent less than Friendly – with considerable command of the situation he released his grip on his service revolver and slipped the safety back on.  A collective exhalation followed as he holstered the weapon.

                                      ……………………………………

While plots were being imagined downstairs, one was actually being planned on the upper floor.

Georgie had slipped out down the back fire escape and was at that moment rallying the troops – the Whipsaw Lake Book Club ladies.

And to cover the plot’s timeline Bull and Posie created a stunned silence by running down into the Parlor wearing full pull on coveralls and their air packs.

                     ………………………………………………………………….

There is a strong vein of Christian righteousness in most small towns in the U S of A – a little mix of hellfire and hallelujah and feel good ‘going to Glory one day’ self satisfaction.

Never let it be said though that it ever gets in the way of screwing people over – Church on Sunday, fuck you twice on Monday as Supervisor Falls would say, and chuckle. And on this day God decided to get his/her own back.

With power out, the roads out , the phones down and the satellite TV caput too, a growing sense of doom and Armageddon began to creep in round the edges of the already edgy extreme members of the populace.

In the scheme of things, if there was a God, he/she was about to have one hell of a good laugh about all this.

God, in this instance came in the form of Pastor Paul. No one was really sure if that was his real name but it rolled nicely off the tongue and as Pastor Paul frequently was prone to being ‘taken by tongues’ it seemed ok to most Whipsaw residents.

It was a challenge to look Godly in the middle of January but Pastor Paul strode purposefully over to the Sink Hole, paused to gird up his frequently wayward loins at the door and flung it open.

Glaring a fire and brimstone eye across the gathered flock his stare fixed firmly on the still trussed terrorists now returned to the bar.(Cliff being way too worried at that moment about his latest shipment of Bud Light staying cold for the duration of the storm.)

To Adnam and Bashir Farah it had all the makings of a Steven King movie. There was only one working baleful eye in Pastor Paul’s head – its mate having been dispatched during an altercation with a BB gun in his youth. He had been alliteratively f-ing this and f-ing that at the precise moment his Mother had promised he’d ‘shoot yer eye out’ when God played a dirty trick and did just that. Was it a flash of revelation or a quick way out of Tennessee? Whatever – the die was cast and Paul became a mail order Pastor on a path to the Lord – or at least a steady pay check.

He’d arrived in Whipsaw Lake last Fall, a stand in for the sickly prior minister of the Fundamentalist Baptist Born Again Church of the Infinite Redeemer. Most folks here abouts had a soft spot for old Pastor Mike, a gentle soul of vague Irish descent, who had enough faults and slip ups of his own not to be too hard on the lonely of bed and liquored up on Saturday residents.

Paul on the other hand was not Mike and let everyone know it within 30 seconds of his opening sermon. Folks still squirmed at the memory of that blistering, withering, tongue lashing, ear bending Sunday morning. No one dozed THAT day, but then half of them never came back either. As Big Bill Hodson put it – if God was going to be such a shit about sending this asshole He could put up with this miserable SOB all by Himself.

As luck would have it Big Bill came through the door right behind Pastor Paul – took one look at the back of the man and quickly wheeled round and left again. Leaving Pastor Paul with a nasty cold draft around the back of his neck – reinforcing his belief that he was in the presence of Evil!

By now Adnam’s eyes were swimming and one good sneeze would have flooded his pants. “Could I PLEASE use the bathroom?” he pleaded.

Pastor Paul strode right up to him, shoved his face right into his and way too quietly menaced “Why?”

“Otherwise it won’t be very pleasant in here in a minute,” laughed Bashir.

Bad move.

“You think this is funny?” the air fairly crackled with electricity as the bar’s by now slightly boozy occupants waited to see how Pastor Paul was going to handle this.

“Well,” mused Bashir, “last time Adnam peed himself I laughed so hard I did the same so it could get really messy? And we did put away a six pack before all this and he never could hold his liquor!”

So – not only terrorists but smart mouther ones to boot!

But a couple of patrons smirked to themselves – and one muttered ‘oh for God’s sake let the guy take a piss!’

Only to meet the full wrath of Pastor Paul wheeling round on a dime to slap a big gloved hand on the table – which kind of ruined the moment, more of a whump than a thwack.

But Cliff Swenson decided he really didn’t want to clean that up and untied the bar towel to lead the sweaty Adnam off to the restroom – the 30 Odd 6 planted firmly in the middle of his back.

Bashir tried to put on his best ‘now what seems to be the problem’ dentists face and smiled expectantly. Surely, even with one eye gone, this man of God might be somewhat reasonable? He couldn’t have been more mistaken.

………………………………………………..

Out on the highway Big Bill Hodson saw an opportunity like a deer fly pounces on a dog’s rear end. The truck was leaning at an unfortunate angle, almost on its side with the far side wheels up to their axles in the snow drift.

“You guys need a hand here?” They nodded.

“Spill your load I see.” They nodded again.

“Sure! Good thing I happened along then! Let’s get this thing back on the road to start with and then you just follow me down the road aways?” A quick look at each other, and they nodded again. One seemed to relax his hand a little in his overcoat pocket.

………………………………………………

Adnam peed as if the well spring of life had burst forth from the depths of eternity. Cliff was impressed – guy must have a 50 gallon bladder!

“We really are dentists you know? You can put the gun down.”

“Shut the fuck up!” said Cliff.

“Please don’t point that thing at me?”

“Same here,” motioned Cliff.

“ Can you please see how my cousin is? Is he badly hurt? Do you have a doctor here?”

“ You ask too many questions!” So this is how they infiltrate coursed across Cliff’s dimly lit powers of reasoning, they almost look normal.

………………………………………………..

“You guys farmers? You sure dress well for farmers!”

A smile crossed their faces and a slight shrug of the shoulders.

“ I guess you were down at the Farm Expo before all this crap blew in right?”

There was no need to reply as Bill had seized the moment and was headed to clinch the sale.

“How much did you lose? 20, 50 bags?” They nodded enthusiastically. “well let’s just back this right up to the loading dock and we can fix you right up gentlemen!”

They exchanged quick looks, one opened his mouth, the other said ‘quiet’ with his eyes, then warmly shook this fool’s hand.

Handing over his American Express – ‘well it’s a pleasure, a real pleasure doing business with you folks! Now just mind how you drive going back up that hill now! Good luck for you I can along when I did eh?” and me too thought Big Bill mentally calculating the exorbitant price he’d just soaked these saps for.

No need for all that Homeland Security crap about checking Driver’s Licenses right?

One of them tipped his hat and waved – the reconstituted load properly secured under a new donated blue tarp – they set off for a date with 40 virgins.

…………………………………………………

So all the pieces were in place and all the players on the stage – all that’s left are some special effects. Enter the star performance of Mother Nature, never one to miss an opportunity to put her 2 cents worth in! The snow had now accumulated over 14” with blasts of freezing rain in between. Power lines folded like last year’s political promises, snapping and crackling into evil blue sparks – the last remaining power went down in Whipsaw Lake.

Normally this would have sent everyone over to the Sink Hole for a joyous abandonment of abstinence and any other kind of diet. But many citizens were now holed up in little marooned pockets of discontent – some in the Church, some in the Township Hall, and some stuck in their isolated homes hunkered down in happy oblivion to what was happening elsewhere. These, as it turned out, were the lucky ones, who emerged the next day and firmly believed everyone had either gone completely cuckoo or was lying through their teeth about what happened next.

        ……………………………………………………………

“Ok – I’ll take over this horse’s ass mess right now!”

Sheriff Rebdone stood in the bar room doorway, a sinister shadow looming behind him. Homeland Security Liaison Special Agent Chuck Friendly (yes, seriously) couldn’t quite emerge from the freezing sleet to squeeze past yet another fine example of classic meat-and-potatoes Whipsaw cuisine.

Mad Max Redbone was known for living large. Big breeches, big cigars and big mouth. Usually followed by a huge mix breed dog called Stinker (due to its love of bar throw-away chili), Stinker was half cow and half Great Dane with a lick of werewolf thrown in. At some point in its puppyhood it had lost half an ear and one eye to an opportunistic coyote before Redbone took the strange mix under his ample wing. Rumor had it that Stinker was the only warm blooded creature, beside himself, that Max had any regard for at all.

Just before all cell phone service went ‘byby’, someone at the Bar had got a few paralyzing screams into the Sheriff’s ear. Being on his way to deliver Special Agent Friendly back to the comfort of his plane and civilization, the Sheriff informed the hapless liaison that a real issue of friggin security to HIS homeland was currently underway and they were going ‘huntin for towel-head bear!’

As they crested the ridge south of town, God took a hand at thoroughly screwing up the situation and closed the roads behind them.

Two more players had now joined the performance at Whipsaw Lake.

Deputy Studs Miller breathed a sigh of relief that whatever shit was about to hit the fan, someone with a far more ample butt than his was going to catch it in the items of anatomy he no longer had to worry about. In answer to being asked where the ‘perps’ were he pointed in opposite directions: to the walk in cooler, where the 2 hapless Pearly White’s had been moved, with one hand and and the B&B with the other. He announced he was now officially off duty, and ordered a double bourbon – or was that a bubble durban ………?

Rolling his eyes Special Agent Friendly tuned on his heel and stomped out into the swirling white out weather. Everyone looked at the door. In exactly 62 seconds it opened to Chuck crooking a finger to Redbone ‘Sheriff, when you’re quite ready please?” A Special Agent NEVER admits he hasn’t a clue where he’s going.

………………………………………………………………

Agent Friendly was anything but. A few months back he had had the unfortunate accident of acquiring a ‘partying’ partner – who ‘partnered’ with one too many of the way too friendly ladies in Bogota – during a Congressional ‘fact finding’ trip….. Although he steadfastly stuck to his story that he had no knowledge of what transpired, the evidence of contracting a slight case of something ‘social’ was a dead give away. Decent drugs cleared up the rash but his reputation, and career, was in the toilet – or rather as far north as anyone could be posted and still be in the US of A.

Chuck was not a happy camper, not happy at all,  but as he stomped across the frozen street toward the B&B – the slight glimmer of redemption began to find a happy place in his soul. Maybe, just maybe this could be his ticket back to civilization?

At this precise moment though he was concentrating on not falling on his ass in his totally inappropriate black dress shoes – ‘buy boots if this lasts more than 12 hours’ he spoke into the digital voice recorder he now carried up his sleeve all the time. This gave the appearance that he was constantly wiping his nose on his cuff – very odd.

Barreling through the B&B door he let it almost smack Redbone in the face – not that he cared, in fact he smiled at the idea of how close it had come. Nasty people get their come uppances – eventually, but that is still to come ….

“Can I help..”was unceremoniously cut off from Georgie’s lips.

“Where is he?

“To whom are you referring?” Georgette had summed this character up and found him worthy of her withering disdain and particularly excellent grasp of English grammar.

“Look lady, if you don’t want me to charge you with obstruction point me to the room the fugitive is being held in!”

By now Redbone had arrived behind him, and, for a second, a ripple of panic ran through Agent Friendly’s gut as the huge shadow loomed behind him.

“If you mean the poor guy with the busted bones and almost no pulse – top of the stairs on the left.”

Drawing his weapon, and feeling almost human again – Special Agent Chuck Friendly bounded up the stairs 2 at a time.

Georgie looked at Redbone, who shrugged and took the stairs at the normal pace for a man who was 40 lbs to the west of normal weight. The stairs creaked as he climbed to meet the unfortunate victim of excessive speed, poor visibility, plain dumb luck and really bad timing.

As inevitably happens, in any void of leadership, heroes often arise to take up the mantle. Unfortunately, on that day it arrived at the Fire Hall in the persons of Village Supervisor Falls and Big Bill Hodson.

A little background is in order to introduce readers to these 2 implacable enemies. In any small town there are those who think they cast quite substantial shadows – even if it IS their guts and butts.

Whipsaw had 2 such characters perpetually vying for being ‘on top’ – which was agreed by all to be a really queasy image to fix in your mind just before eating.

Edson was known as Big Ed married to small mousy Emmy – everyone thought she deserved one for staying married to the miserable so-and-so. Three offspring graced the Falls household. Two sons Josh and Jerry who appeared to have been cloned directly from Ed. Then there was SallyAnn who looked an awful lot like she’d come from a different root stock altogether. Lots of tongues wagged about THAT but not in public.

Big Bill Hodson had made a fortune with the Whipsaw Hardware, Plumbing, Agricultural Supply and Gas & Go. a red faced bully he was rumored to have actually made his deals by ‘screwing everything that moved, man, woman or beast.’ A prominent member of the Sons Of The Golden North he had his eye on the Republican ticket to the land of perpetual pig roasts – and a lifetime pension please. Bill wasn’t Supervisor but thought he should have been if someone had thought to count the ballots properly, or at least as they’d been told to do!

Posie picked up the phone full of hope but saw it piddle away in a scream of static.

“Well?” demanded Falls.

Posie shook his head.

“Does this piss-ant town even HAVE a lockup?” sneered Hodson.

“Well – there’s the walk-in safe here” mused Posie, “they usually just ship ‘em off to Jacknife and the State boys.”

“Now ain’t this just grand!?” Falls belly seemed suddenly more prone to wobbliness and his bluster seemed more put on.

“What about one of the storage sheds at your lumber yard Bill?” asked Posie.

Hodson thought for a moment, weighing the future political kudos against the prospect of the next wave of terrorists weighing in on his prime southern yellow pine………

“Sure, I suppose that’d work, I mean maybe.”

“Now just a darn minute here” said Falls, “ does anyone know what the hell we’re dealing with? Just who are these guys and where are they now?”

Black smoke still hung in the air over the Park. It was time to go see about the terrorists.

……………………………………

Adnam and Bashir Farah were at that moment looking at each other and wondering if  their cousin Mansur Elhessin was dead, alive, singed or lying concussed somewhere out on the ice on Whipsaw Lake.

They were tied with bar towels to the brass front rail and perched uncomfortably on red anaugahide high stools. Adnam needed to pee very, very badly but was wondering if speaking would just make things worse. Bashir’s eyes motioned for very slow and careful actions – motioning back to the dangling antler from Old FleaBag the bar moosehead mascot.

Supervisor Falls now stood menacingly in front of them, a cup of coffee in one hand and the, badly sighted in, 30 Odd Six in the other.

“DO – YOUS – SPEAK – ENGLISH?” one – word – at – a – time…..

A pregnant silence.

“Are you from I-Ran?” yelled Hodson.

“Not at all gentlemen,” whispered Bashir, “Dearborn actually.”

“We’re dentists not terrorists,” nodded Adnam enthusiastically.

More pregnant silence.

“BS!” spluttered Cliff, “you bastards blew up the Park!”

“Well, in truth, your Park blew up our cousin Mansur and we’re a little concerned about that,” stated Adnam.

“Don’t get wise ass with me you towel head devil! Are you a sayin’ there’s more’n you?”

Bashir took a deep breath, “we’re on a poker run with the club – the Pearly White’s – lost our bearings in the storm. Are we in Canada?”

“Wouldn’t you just like that you bastard,” menaced Hodson,”a bunch of leftist leaning safe haven nut jobs’d love to give you pair a free pass. Where’s the other one?”

By this time Posie had sprinted from the building toward the plume of smoke to find a definitely singed and unconscious Pearly White Mansur in a crumpled heap on top of the stacked up loading dock planks. There was a trickle of red humanity coming from the left ear. Posie didn’t like that one bit.

As luck would have it the 2 way pager still worked and in very short order Nate ‘Bull’ Simpson arrived with the Rescue truck.

“Careful as we roll him Bull, this looks nasty and God knows how long it’ll be before we can get him out to Jacknife.”

As the firemen turned on their auto pilot training to the downed man, the good citizens of Whipsaw arrived on the scene en masse baying for more blood than was coming from the unfortunate Mansur’s ear.

“Oh crap,” sighed Posie.

…………………………………………………………

One of the blessings/curses of Whipsaw Lake, and the single reason for it’s being off the beaten path, is, well, it IS off the beaten path.

The only road goes right through town and up a darn scary hill at both ends. The highway got detoured up, over and around better than 20 years ago just leaving an ‘oo lovely’ moment for the traffic screaming by up above.

So a combination of laziness, inbreeding, lack of public transportation and access to decent secondary education had left the marooned citizens a tad limited in the world affairs area. Now adrift in a sea of scary ‘non-connectivity’, no bars on the phones, and betrayed yet again by Mother Nature – the phrase ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here’ seemed really appropriate. God had gone on vacation and the Muslims had come to take HIS place!

All the TV and radio stations had gone out leaving the words ‘state of emergency’ hanging in the ethernet – of course, all the level headed folks now firmly believed that the hoards of Islam had arrived to blow them all to Glory. If anyone doubt what poor education and blind panic looks like on a normally placid small town USA – it was at that moment barreling down the hill toward Posie, Bull and the crumpled Mansur. In spite of telephonic failure, word had spread like the proverbial wildfires. Time to kick some Muslim butt!

For a second, Posie wished he was armed. Bull took charge and spread his ample 200 pounds of muscle and long bones in front of the patient and boomed “stop the fuck right there! This man’s hurt real bad. You silly sons of bitches get your heads out your asses and get out the way!”

“That bastard could be dangerous!” fumed Cliff.

“Only if you want him to bleed all over you,” said Posie, “now stand aside so we can get him somewhere warm.”

A tense few seconds passed before Bull and Posie loaded the gurney and keyed the ignition.

“You think they’ll move?”

“Oh …… I think so,” said Bull as he stomped his foot to the floor.

……………………………………………

“Bring him in gladly,” said Georgette Sanders MLS. Georgette doubled her meager librarian income with the SlumberBy B&B. It seemed to be the safest and closest place to try to care for the still ashen fallen snowmobiler/terrorist.

“Who is he?” she asked.

“Some poor slob in the wrong place at the friggin worst wrong time,” muttered Bull as they were debating whether to attempt unzipping the now grubby white snowmobile suit.

Posie made the decision and cut the sleeves and legs to check for broken bones and get a blood pressure. Definitely a wrist and left forearm, probably a few ribs and a collar bone. “Seems to have taken the worst on the left side.”

“So,”said Georgette looking down at the black eye and flushed man,”you think this is the face of radical Islam?”

“I think this is the face of a silly sod who shouldn’t have been going 110 in a snow storm,”sighed Posie.

“Mmmmm – somehow I don’t think that’s going to fly any better than he did,” said Bull.

…………………………………………………..

As coincidence would have it, at that very moment, the shadowy faces of actual extremism were a might hot and bothered – having gone off the road into the ditch just half a mile south of Whipsaw Hardware, Plumbing, Agricultural Supply and Gas & Go. Tailgate sprung open, several bags of ammonium nitrate had scattered their white contents innocuously into the howling falling snow – the malicious intent swallowed up by the same forces of nature swirling around, and about to consume the good citizens of Whipsaw.

…………………………………………………………………..

What happened next still defies logic.

Who moved first depends on who’s telling the story, and how many adult beverages have been consumed in the telling.

At some point a bottle was grabbed by the neck and smashed across the bar.

At some point the 30 Odd Six shot out the one rack left on the bar mascot moose head. Someone swung their Slugger and took out Fred the Barber by mistake. With much waving around of fists and glasses, much shouting, cussing and general ‘foreign rantings” the Terrorists fell to their knees and held up their hands. And Mikey was dispatched to Sheriff Maximus, aka “Mad Max”, Redbone’s house – all the phones in town having been taken out by the now ferocious ice storm.

Holding down the fort that day, unfortunately for all, was Reserve Deputy Miller – all of 22 and a full 3 months on the job as Probationary Community Constable.

Deputy Miller was, however, at that point in time, located in the lobby of the Whipsaw Lake Post Office, occupying his usual stance at 11-ish most mornings – scrutinizing the ample rear end of the unrequited love of his life, sweet Irene. Irene Appleby maintained this round and lovely figure in proud defiance of all ‘skinny bitch’ reality TV starlets. A comfortable 155 lbs. and loving every warm and cuddly one of them, Irene seemed the perfect woman for any man in Whipsaw Lake except for one thing. Irene was passionately in love with someone else – Georgette who held guard as the local librarian, font of all knowledge, and local shit-kicker. No one, no man especially, messed with Georgette Sanders MLS.

“Georgie girl,” sighed Irene,”that’s the sorriest excuse of a man puppy. When ever I turn round, there he is a pantin’. It’s just too damn bad the man has no balls!”

“Don’t be such a bitch!”

“No Georgie – he REALLY has no balls. His brainless Dad never could abide tying up that pitbull of his. Just as well he was so young – poor little bugger never even got to figure out out how to use ‘em.”

Deputy Miller, with the apt, but sadly ironic, first name “Studs” was rudely snapped from idle dreaming of ‘what might have been with sweet Irene’ by young Mr. Milchek pounding on the lobby window, screaming and babbling about “explosions, gunfire, terrorists” with an attention grabbing, breathless, white knuckle, shit-scared urgency.

Studs Miller had a momentary rush of pride and anticipation – and in the same split second went into blind panic – he being the only law in town. Sherif Redbone had called not 5 minutes before saying he was stuck in the next county and would be home ‘when the plows get running.’

Mikey was screaming. Irene with her beautiful mouth hanging wide open and oh so inviting ……… Studs got a sinking feeling that, even though everything wasn’t where it should be between his legs, he knew his bladder was still working and in imminent need of relief! He needed help and fast and, fortunately for all, just then ‘help’ showed up.

……………………………………………

‘Posie’ Brown just wanted to pick up his mail, his paper and to get home to sleep after yet another roll over on Highway 42. Damn weather. Damn fools. Damn 4 wheel numb nuts driving like they think God almighty will miraculously arrive to save them from the inevitable sudden sharp and certain stop…. Haul out the Rescue Rig. Haul out the gear. Haul out the dragging, sadly underpaid ass of the Friggin Fire Chief.

‘Posie’, real name Possibility, Brown had suffered all his 53 years because his poorly educated Mother had once looked in awe at a vision of heaven at the dentists office i.e. English Country House and Garden magazine. Not being quite able to plumb her  memory to name her first born Capability, poor Posie was saddled for life with the infinite promise of the name Possibility. Close enough, his Dad always said – learn to live with it he said, “embrace the infinite, Possibility” and then he’d turn away and snigger to himself, just a little.

‘Posie’ had overcome 53 years of stupid snarky cracks about his name and, maybe just a little because of that, flung himself into the only paid Fire And EMS position on the Whipsaw Lake Emergency Services Department. On that fateful morning, Chief Brown took in the little group of faces turned so expectantly toward him and thought, ‘oh crap!’

…………………………………………….

A word about Whipsaw Lake – population 403 on a good day – mostly 357 depending if it was before or after Labor Day. No Stop Light for 40 miles in either direction, One hardware store. One K-6 school. One Bar (well, legal one anyway…) Two bait shops. Two greasy spoon coffee shops and one slightly late-dah ‘expresso bar – wrongly spelled on its sign. One ‘farmers everything’ General store in perpetual, direct competition/all out war with the Whipsaw Hardware, Plumbing, Agricultural Supply and Gas & Go. The Snip And Clip barber/beauty parlor and a sad set of closed up Downtown reminders of happier, more prosperous times gone by.

Whipsaw Lake sat close enough to the Canadian border to ‘throw a side of bacon over and hit a Mountie’ as Fred The Barber liked to put it. There was a healthy dispute over the actual geography and accuracy of official maps to claim that the north finger of Whipsaw Swamp was actually really in Canada – and hence not subject to ‘any damn huntin and fishin regerlashuns!’.

For most of recorded memory it hadn’t amounted to a hill of Mountie horse pucky. Until 911. About two months later a fleet of black shiny SUV’s descended and informed Vilage Supervisor Falls that they were from the ‘government’ – specifically Homeland Security – and that it was his, ‘under penalty of being whisked away to God Knows Where’ legal responsibility to ‘monitor’ border traffic from now on. “Money?” asked Falls, hopefully. “Fill out this form” said the SUV man. And that was the last anyone heard about that.

The cavalcade swept on up the road leaving behind a stack of “You Are Now Entering the United States of America” signs. “Have A Nice Day”. Someone, in very short order, scribbled across the bottom “Stay out forenners – Whipsaw Whips Butt!”

In a suspicious response, someone promptly riddled the scribble with bullet holes, but that could just have been they were a really bad shot and were aiming for the squirrels who liked to sit on top and do other things there too ……..

Whipsaw was a ‘friggin thousand miles from anything worth blowing up’ opined Village Supervisor Edson Falls. Others were not so sure, including Cliff at the Stink Hole, who suffered mental instability from being confined for 16 hours a day with a TV tuned permanently to Fox News. Cliff believed Whipsaw was a ‘soft underbelly’ of opportunity for those seeking to steal across the Canadian border by dark of night to strike at just such a ‘soft target’ and strike a blow against life, liberty and the pursuit of BudLight ………..

How fortunate that when the foreign sneak attack came, it was Cliff that met it head on armed with his 30 Odd Six and a lousy sense of direction.

……………………………………………….

“Oh crap!” stated Posie Brown, out loud this time for effect. Studs was babbling about not being a ‘real’ cop yet and not having anywhere near the training to deal with THIS and that how in the ‘bleeping bleep’ could this happen on a day when Sheriff Redbone was stuck over in Jacknife at a regional emergency response seminar, THIS was the ‘bleeping EMERGENCY, where the ‘bleep’ was Redbone now!?

“Perhaps” suggested serene Irene, “you could try calling him?”

Almost as one, everyone now gathered in the lobby like a tree full of turkey vultures on a dead deer, oohed at the irony this should happen on a day when the storm had taken out every cell phone service tower for a 100 mile radius. It had been on the news ‘and everything’ mentioned one helpful citizen.

Posie flipped his open and sure enough – no service…… now what? Crap again ….

Almost wishing he could publicly slap Studs silly, instead he hauled the man-child out by the sleeve and set off for the Fire Hall in hopes of being able to raise someone on the land line.

……………………………………………….

And all at once, all over Whipsaw Lake, those who were tuned in to Weather Channel saw the ominous forecast of ‘impending blizzard like conditions setting in for the next 24-36 hours with significant blowing and drifting.’

Just as the ticker went across the bottom of the screen saying the ‘State Police have declared a state of emergency and shut down US ………….’ all across town the lights, satellite dishes, antennas and TV’s went —————- oh crap!